


I want you in my arms

by alfisha



Series: Tomarry Oneshots [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Good Tom Riddle, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Attend Hogwarts Together, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not really though, Possessive Tom Riddle, Sane Tom Riddle, TOM IS A CUDDLER, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, angst if you squint, but they’ve graduated in this, descriptions of violence, had to put that out there, harry is touch sensitive :(, let’s start with the actual tags shall we?, okay so, they’re big bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24106282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alfisha/pseuds/alfisha
Summary: Tom is a cuddler.Harry is touch sensitive and uncomfortable with close contact.Tom is completely infatuated, and so he’s willing to suffer in silence.Harry is also infatuated, and won’t let that happen.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: Tomarry Oneshots [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708141
Comments: 49
Kudos: 941
Collections: Harry Potter Fanfic Must Reads





	I want you in my arms

**Author's Note:**

> me @ 3am: lol what if harry was a cuddler  
> me @ 3:30am: what if TOM was a cuddler  
> me @ 7:03am (now): let’s do it.
> 
> i posted this at 9:20am so,, yay for like nearly two and a half hours of writing whoooo

Contrary to popular belief, Tom Riddle was a cuddler.

His particularly unpleasant childhood had clearly made its permanent mark on him, in the form of being an absolute attention whore.

He was not ashamed to admit it. Though he could also say with no hesitation that he resented it.

Because the only one he wanted the attention from, could not provide in the ways he desired.

Harry was perfect. Tom had no trouble saying that. If anyone said otherwise, they’d have to deal with the consequences of Tom Riddle’s wrath. Harry knew exactly how to deal with Tom’s whiplash-inducing mood swings, he knew exactly what Tom was thinking the second he thought it. With any other person, Tom would hate that.

But Harry was perfect. 

Harry was perfect, though Tom found himself selfishly wanting more from him.

He knew this was incredibly self-centred. Harry barely asked anything of him, and willingly gave Tom everything he could - his body, his loyalty, his love, his everything.

But Tom still wanted more.

Tom was a cuddler.

Harry was not.

Despite their similar upbringings, the two of them had reacted in different ways. Tom became more resentful towards the world and the people in it, whereas Harry saw the beauty in everything, and cherished all that was around him as if it might leave him at any second. Tom had become attention-seeking and filled with a need to be better than everyone else, whereas Harry was meek and preferred to stay on the sidelines. This wasn’t to say that Harry was weak, because he wasn’t. His power was equal to Tom’s own, and that’s why Harry was the only one worthy of Tom‘s love. Tom became touch-starved and needy as a result of his neglected past, whereas Harry shied away from any and all touch.

Tom knew that he should be satisfied with the fact that he was an exception, to some extent. Harry let Tom hold his hand, he let Tom kiss him, let Tom worship his body between the sheets. On a good day, Harry may even let Tom hug him from behind as he hummed in the kitchen, refusing to employ house elves when he enjoyed cooking for someone he loved.

Tom still wanted more.

He wanted to hold Harry close to him in bed at night, chest to chest so that Tom could feel Harry’s heartbeat against his own, he wanted to feel Harry’s hair on his chin as Harry nestled his head against Tom’s neck. He wanted to have Harry pressed against him in sleep, curled up to his chest as Tom hugged him from behind. Tom wanted to wrap his arms around Harry in the night, just so that he knew that Harry was there, and that everything would be okay. He wanted to put an arm over his boyfriend’s shoulders or around his waist in public, and let everyone know that Harry was his.

And maybe Harry wanted that, too. 

But Harry was too damaged, and Tom knew that if he tried to do these things, Harry would panic and lash out.

He wouldn’t mean to, of course. He’d apologise repeatedly and probably start crying, trying to reassure Tom that, yes, he wanted to, but no, he couldn’t. 

And Tom understood.

But he still _wanted._

He contemplated all of this in bed one evening, one hand in Harry’s hair and the other preoccupied with a book he had no interest in reading (as he had already done so many times before). Harry was sitting beside him, the both of them leaning against the headboard as they sat up to read before bed. It had become routine, and they both knew Tom loved routines.

But Tom couldn’t concentrate. 

He wanted so desperately to bring up his inner turmoil with Harry, because he always had. Tom had become accustomed to projecting all of his thoughts to Harry, because he knew his partner would listen and comment when needed. 

Harry was an amazing listener.

But he was a terrible talker.

Which was why Tom didn’t bring up this subject. Talking about his past was something Harry couldn’t deal with, and he became closed-off and emotionless whenever Tom tried. He would listen to Tom’s troubles whenever Tom needed to get it off his chest, and he would kiss him and tell him that it was behind them, and that he had a family now. But Harry’s past was not something either of them brought up.

Either because Harry was too Gryffindor for his own good and thought that he could handle it from inside his own mind - which was a terrible idea, really - or if he truly did experience things that he can’t stand to re-live, Tom didn’t particularly know.

But oh, he wanted to.

He wanted to know everything about Harry. He already knew more than most, things like what Harry’s favourite meal was to where Harry was most sensitive. But he knew next to nothing about Harry’s childhood.

He knew his relatives were abusive, but everyone knew that. That was the bare minimum. He knew that Harry had been malnourished, if his less-developed body was anything to go by. Tom wasn’t complaining - Harry was perfect, after all, and that included being absolutely beautiful. He knew that Harry had been overworked, and that he hadn’t had a proper bedroom until he was twelve.

But Tom only knew most of these things from having eyes.

Harry’s sensitivity didn’t just come from nowhere, and he definitely didn’t just learn to cook like that overnight. And Harry’s small frame and smaller food portions spoke for themselves on the behalf of his forced starving. 

So Harry never explicably told him any of this. He knew that Tom was smart and could figure out the facts on his own.

But a small weed of doubt began to grow in the forefront of Tom’s mind. 

_What if he doesn’t trust me?_

He tried to brush it aside, but the more he thought about it, the more logical it became. 

Tom turned it over in his mind, going through the possibilities.

He didn’t like what his own mind was telling him.

Harry, on the other hand, was dying inside.

Tom had been staring at one word for thirty minutes, and his eyes were unfocused. There was a frown on his forehead and he was biting his lip, a habit he only indulged when he was thinking of something that upset him.

Harry, try as he might, couldn’t think of any reason for this behaviour. 

They’d had a calm day. Nowhere to go, no one to meet, no needs to be fulfilled. There was nothing stressful about their morning, nor afternoon, nor evening.

Except this.

Harry was worried.

Tom always told him what he was thinking. It was second nature to both of them. Tom projected, Harry helped clarify. The only time Tom kept thoughts to himself was when they were about Harry, and even then he’d share eventually. 

But Tom wasn’t budging. 

Harry sighed quietly, and Tom didn’t even notice. That was another warning sign. Tom was unnaturally observant most of the time. 

Harry had had enough.

If Tom wouldn’t willingly share, Harry would make him.

He snapped his book shut, the sudden noise waking Tom up from his thoughts. Harry placed the book slowly and deliberately on the table beside him, and looked at Tom to do the same. He did. 

Instead of burrowing beneath the covers to sleep, Harry sat straighter. He crawled down the bed a bit to sit opposite Tom, legs crossed and a stern expression in place.

He felt a small surge of smug pride when Tom gulped.

”What is it?” he asked, making sure to sound as frightful as he could.

”Sorry, darling?” Tom asked shakily, smiling sweetly at him. 

Oh, no. That would not do.

Harry frowned at him, and Tom’s smile dropped. He said nothing for a moment, and Harry raised an eyebrow expectantly.

”I’ve been thinking...” Tom trailed off, and Harry resisted the urge to snort. 

”Congratulations.” he said dryly, and was concerned when Tom didn’t even scowl at him.

This was serious.

”I... don’t know how to phrase this.” Tom bit out, and Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. If there was one thing Tom was good at, it was phrasing. 

Well. With exceptions.

Harry stayed dutifully silent, watching as Tom struggled internally.

Finally, Tom sighed in resignation. He rubbed a hand over his face, and looked at Harry desperately.

”Read my mind.” he said pleadingly, and Harry held in a gasp. 

Tom didn’t let anyone look into his mind. 

“Are you sure?” Harry asked pointlessly, as he knew that Tom wouldn’t have told him to if he wasn’t sure. 

Tom didn’t comment on the ridiculous question as he might have an hour or two ago, and instead nodded his confirmation. 

Harry swallowed his shock and shuffled closer, just about sitting in Tom’s lap. It wasn’t entirely necessary, but he wanted to be in close proximity if Tom felt any pain.

He looked straight into Tom’s brown eyes, and whispered, “Legilimens.”

What he saw was... complicated.

He didn’t really know how to describe it. 

It was like he was an outsider, viewing a famous monument. The physical world became similar to background music, ignored and unimportant. He watched Tom’s thoughts and memories play as Tom wanted, and Harry didn’t intrude further. Tom would show him what he wanted Harry to see.

By the time Tom was done, Harry was... shocked, to say the least. He pulled away from Tom’s mind gently, trying to make it as comfortable as possible, but didn’t miss the slight grimace on Tom’s expression as the pressure lifted.

Tom was watching him expectantly, waiting for a reaction.

Quite frankly, Harry didn’t have one.

He hadn’t known that Tom felt this way. He never mentioned his past to Tom because yes, it was traumatising, and he’d rather face his boggart than talk about it. But he would do it now, if Tom wanted him to.

He took a deep breath, and looked steadily at Tom. His boyfriend watched him back carefully, trying to read his expression but not finding anything there. 

“My relatives names are Vernon Dursley, Petunia Evans Dursley, and Dudley Dursley. My uncle has been imprisoned by muggle law enforcement for mistreatment of a child, and my aunt has also had her time in custody. My cousin Dudley received community service for violent tendencies towards family and others. The only person I am blood related to is Petunia, who was my mum’s sister. I don’t count her as family,” Harry tried to keep his expression and voice neutral, but the memories that were returning to him were quickly making him feel as insignificant as the small ten year-old child in the cupboard... 

He took another deep breath and carried on. 

“Vernon and Petunia didn’t care about me. They didn’t think I deserved love, and only took care of me because of their fear of Dumbledore,” Harry laughed bitterly at that. “Petunia provided for me up until I could walk and talk fluently, which was soon because magical babies develop quickly. So at the age of two, I was doing basic household chores. Simple things like sweeping or dusting. I wasn’t deemed worthy of a bedroom, and slept in the cupboard under the stairs, which they locked whenever they didn’t want to look at me. Which was often.” Harry closed his eyes and sighed, but opened them quickly enough and stared at Tom’s face. 

He looked livid. 

And Harry wasn’t even done.

”At age six I was cooking meals and working all day, as well as going to school. Not because they cared about my education, no way. They just didn’t want the pesky police to come knocking when the neighbours started gossiping about the freaky boy they had that didn’t go to school. So, between juggling intense chores, cooking, and homework, as well as occasional accidental magic, you can imagine how stressed I was.

It became worse when I turned seven. My magic kicked in one time when Dudley was chasing me, and I caused a vase to explode. Uncle Vernon-“ Harry cut off unexpectedly when a sob burst out of his throat, and Tom’s eyes widened in panic.

”Do you want to stop? You don’t have to keep going-“ 

“Tom, shut up and give me a moment.”

To his credit, Tom didn’t interrupt further.

Harry took a moment to control his breathing, swallowing the abrupt sadness and wiping away the unwelcome tears.

”Uncle Vernon hit me. Many times. Said I was a freak, unnatural, that I didn’t belong in this world. I believed him.

The physical abuse was a lot more common after that. If the cleaning wasn’t done in time, if the breakfast wasn’t perfect, if I tried to have at least a little bit of food when cooking. Even when I brought home good grades from school, they beat me for daring to outshine their darling Dudley.

As a small child, I genuinely believed it was my fault. I saw how much they loved Dudley, how differently they treated him, and I wondered why I couldn’t have that. I thought that I just wasn’t doing well enough, and so I did everything they told me to. I was desperate for their approval, because I was just so alone.” Harry stopped for a moment, both to gather his thoughts and to let Tom take in the information. 

“On one occasion, I called Aunt Petunia ‘Mummy’, because that was what Dudley called her. She opened her arms so wide, and I thought she was going to hug me. I felt so happy suddenly, and I was rushing towards her, but then all I felt was pain on the side of my head, and then ten minutes later I woke up and there was blood on the floor. Of course, I was scorned for making a mess, and had to clean it up.”

Tom looked murderous, and Harry smiled sadly at him.

”It continued that way up until a week before I was eleven, and I received my Hogwarts letter. You’d think that was when it got better. But... no. They knew immediately who it was from, and of course they wouldn’t have such freakishness in their house. They forbade me from going, and burned all the letters that came, even moved to a remote island somewhere in the North. That’s when Hagrid came, and from then on I knew magic existed. I could escape for majority of the year, and return home for summer and endure it until it was time to leave again. 

First year was overwhelming. I truly don’t think I would have been able to cope without you, Tom,” Harry smiled at him, and Tom tried to smile back. It didn’t work very well. Harry could tell he was still angry. 

“So I did just that. I had an awesome year with you, then returned to hell in the summer. Of course, I knew you had a similar situation, and you could figure it out easy enough, but I still wasn’t comfortable talking about it when I was younger. Even now, I’m nervous as fuck,” he chuckled anxiously, and Tom tried to look reassuring, though his expression was strained. “I used to feel ashamed of my home life. I’d go to any lengths to hide it from people. I made my own healing potions and bruise creams, and I ate as much as I could while it was still possible. I didn’t think too much about re-feeding syndrome, but luckily my magic didn’t let me become too harmed by it. But I suppose what you want to know about is my aversion to touch,” he smirked, and Tom nodded hesitantly. 

“Actually, it has a lot to do with that one incident with Petunia. You were right to some extent with the factor of trust, but don’t misunderstand. I trust you with all that I have. I wouldn’t be telling you all this if I didn’t. I suppose that I’ve just been so used to shying away from people my whole life that when I eventually find someone that I don’t need to hide from, the instincts won’t go away. Old habits die hard, as they say. I wouldn’t be averse to trying to reintroduce that aspect of my life, however...” he trailed off, looking pointedly at Tom.

Tom wanted to cry.

He wanted to cry and hold Harry for as long as Fate allow it, he wanted to keep Harry safe from anyone meaning to do him harm. 

He didn’t cry. But he did give Harry a pleading look.

And, as always, Harry knew exactly what he was thinking, and clambered into Tom’s arms. 

Tom could feel Harry tense at first, how his body and his mind were warring with themselves, instinct against rationality. Tom rubbed soothing shapes into Harry’s back with his thumbs, and was immediately satisfied when Harry relaxed slightly, shoulders slumping and arms clutching at Tom’s body.

Harry didn’t try to swallow his sobs anymore, and Tom held him as Harry cried, but he didn’t mind. He knew that Harry had never talked about this before, and the memories would obviously be disturbing. He felt his own eyes get a bit wet, but there was no way he was allowing the tears to fall. No way.

When Harry stopped crying, he rearranged himself. He pulled them both down into bed, and Tom followed along without complaint. Harry laid Tom on his back, and where Harry would usually do the same next to him, this time he cuddled right up to Tom’s side, pushing his head under Tom’s arm and burying himself in the crook of Tom’s neck. 

Tom melted. 

This was everything he wanted. Harry just willingly tore himself apart and put himself back together again so that Tom could have the contact he desperately yearned for, and Tom was so immensely grateful and full of admiration for his boyfriend that he found words slipping out of his mouth before he could properly think about them.

”Marry me.” he whispered, and once the words were out, he didn’t regret them at all. Not even remotely. 

Harry just laughed sleepily against his neck. “Maybe in the morning.” came his reply, and Tom smiled more than he ever had in his life. 

Harry was perfect.

* * *

hi! this is alisha. first of all, thanks for reading. second of all, i would like to convey how much i hate typing up a story with my phone. this shit is so tiring. typos galore. last of all, inspiration for this little fic was from my own touch-starved ass at 3am. i was like ‘i wanna be held :(‘ and then, to make myself feel less lonely, started imagining my situation but with tomarry. and here we are. i don’t usually make the notes on the actual chapter itself, but hey, try something new every day. i hope everyone’s well during this pandemic. not gonna say much bc i’m sure you’ve read the same bullshit over and over again, so i’ll keep it short and simple. stay safe, wash your fucking hands, and stay at home. 

alisha loves you :3

**Author's Note:**

> hey, you should check out my other oneshots.  
> it would make me very happy.
> 
> only if you want 🥺👉🏻👈🏻  
> also follow my tumblr. https://alfiisha.tumblr.com/


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